


give in to your bleeding

by runthemredlightsbabe



Series: pieces [8]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Language of Flowers, M/M, holy shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-19 00:44:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10628610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runthemredlightsbabe/pseuds/runthemredlightsbabe
Summary: He feels weak, sort of light, sort of fake, sort of paper, like if he thought too hard or turned too fast, he’ll dissolve into dust. There’s a grabbing in his stomach, this push-and-pull sort of sea-sickness. It’s maybe nerves. Akaashi is maybe anxious.He’s anxious because this is real, because he’s going to do it. He has to do it. Has one chance at this. Has to get it right, get it wrong, cut the wire, stop this sludgy shadowy-light bleeding on the inside, because if he doesn’t do this now, he’ll never, ever, ever be able to sleep again.Akaashi Keiji is an idiot.“Koutarou,” He says, and Bokuto snaps to attention. Plucks the bromeliad out of his hands, sets it back down on the desk by the old coffee cups and scattered paper and volleyball stickers.“Your fingers are cold, ‘Kaashi,” Bokuto says absentmindedly, and wraps his scarred, calloused hands around Akaashi’s skeleton-boy fingers.Akaashi Keiji is a fucking idiot.





	

**Author's Note:**

> *deep sigh.  
> It's almost over, everyone. You support has been phenomenal. I could not do it without you guys, I really, really couldn't. Thank you so much. 
> 
> As always, please check out my friend, [crowswillfly](http://crowswillfly.tumblr.com/). She made me a fantastic playlist for this series, and you can find it on [8tracks](https://8tracks.com/skihale/pieces) and [youtube](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL2UINVOA5TkdluzDa1oJ2RbL1SQR7psNp)! This series would be very different without her and her wonderful music.
> 
> Title credit to "Pieces" by Rob Thomas

**!! IMPORTANT TRIGGER WARNINGS!!**

Hello! This piece includes graphic talk of self-hate, self-harm, and suicide, along with generally self-destructive and masochistic behavior/sort of manipulation. If you are worried that you might be harmed by any of that, I would probably suggest skipping this particular part, because it's essentially crawling with trigger warnings. If you would like to know what happens, please message me! I would be more than happy to give you a censored summary!!

Keep yourselves safe. <3

___

Akaashi can’t really believe he’s here.

Neither, apparently, can Tsukishima Kei.

“Holy shit,” If this were any other place, any other time, any other world, Akaashi might have been amused. It’s an accomplishment, startling Tsukishima Kei out of his indifference. But this isn’t any other world, and Akaashi is breaking into pieces. There’s a hole, this big ugly hole, somewhere right where he thinks his lungs are supposed to be, and it’s all cold and angry and it hurts.

“Where’s Koutarou?” He asks. Akaashi Keiji has always been polite, but he’s half-crippled, crumbled, crushed like a handful of broken stones.

“Yikes,” Tsukishima says blandly, and shuts the door in Keiji’s face.

He appears a heartbeat or two later. Stares. Reiterates. “Yikes.net.”

Akaashi breathes. Picks up some of his pieces, tapes them back together. He can’t do so much about the coat of bruises, or the way his legs can’t really hold him up all the way anymore, but he can give Tsukishima a moment to process.

“What the _actual fuck_ happened to you?” Tsukishima asks, in his no-nonsense sort of way. Akaashi wonders if his blood is setting the kid on edge.

He could answer that question any one of a thousand ways, but he chooses to ignore it. “Koutarou, Tsukishima-kun. Where is he?”

“Not here,” The blonde boy says, and then, with a sliver of urgency. “You’re getting blood on the carpet.”

And so he is.

Oops.

“Where?”

“Not here,” Tsukishima says again, a bit more agitated. He taps his glasses. “Do I need to call a fucking hospital or something?” 

“No,” Akaashi waves a hand. “Please, I merely need to know where Koutarou is.”

Tsukishima looks furiously frustrated for a hot second. “I-”

He makes an _erk_ sound, looks away. “He’s out with Kuroo. Dancing. Won’t be back for at least another three hours.”

“Do you know the address?”

“Yeah, but I’m not-” Tsukishima cuts himself off, tugs on his wiry gold hair. “Ugh. What are you doing here, Akaashi?”

“Looking for Koutarou.”

“Yes, I got that bit.” The sarcasm pools like venom. “I meant, why are you looking for him?”

“Because I-” There are a thousand ways to answer his question. "-I need to find him."

Tsukishima clearly needs another moment or two, but Akaashi’s knees are buckling. He can’t afford to wait.

“Just a name, Tsukishima-kun. I can find my way.”

The gold boy scowls. “You’re fucked up.”

“Yes," Akaashi agrees. "But I think I’ll be alright."

This is a bad move, apparently.

A choked sort of growl rips its way out of Kei’s throat, and one adrenaline rush later, Akaashi has been dragged inside Tsukishima’s apartment and flung against the wall, held aloft by his throat, with a pair of gold eyes searing sins into his cheeks.

Tsukishima is mad.

Akaashi sort of figured this would happen.

“You’re fucked up,” Tsukishima says. “That’s your fucking problem. Don’t drag him into this.”

“I didn’t know you particularly cared."

“You don’t know me,” Tsukishima spits. “You fucking asshole.”

And _oh_ , Akaashi gets it. It comes together, a bunch of crossed-out pieces. Tsukishima is not angry for Bokuto.

“How is Tadashi?”

Tsukishima’s fingers tighten reflexively, and now, okay, there are fuzzy spots in Keiji’s vision. “In fucking pieces.”

Kei’s cutting off his windpipe, so Akaashi keeps it short. “He’s too kind.”

“ _Don’t,_ ” What Tsukishima doesn’t know, what Akaashi doesn’t have the heart to tell him, is that crushed larynx or not, Akaashi stopped breathing weeks ago. “You don’t get to say that. Not after what you did to him. You ruined him. You _ruined_ him.”

Maybe, somewhere, in a different life, in a different body, Akaashi would have gotten angry. Maybe he would’ve lost control, like he did for Oikawa, Kageyama, Bokuto, Oikawa again. Maybe in a different world where he went to school every day and Bokuto wore his hair in spikes and Kageyama and Hinata got to rule the world.

But Akaashi is tired. He is…

He is so tired. He is so _unbelievably_ tired. Tired in his bones, in his fingers, in his soul. He wants to lie down. He wants to sleep for a thousand years. He is tired and there is a hole in his chest the size of Kageyama’s grief, and there are bones in his skin that don’t fit right because they’ve been broken a thousand times, and shadows in his vision are blooming like martyrs.

So instead of getting angry, he says;

“I’m not going to hurt him anymore."

Akaashi places a hand on Tsukishima’s face. _So angry_. “After tonight, Tsukishima-kun, I’m not going to hurt _anyone_ anymore.”

Kei stiffens.

“I’m going to disappear.”

___

There isn’t much time left.

No more pieces to find like glass shards, in the pads of fingers, or the curves of spines.

If you’re smart, you’ve probably already figured it out. All the pieces are here, all the patterns. They’re lying in little soldier rows, ready for the war that never comes.

(That’s the secret, you know.)

(there is no war)

___

The club is called _Takaku Tobimasu_. This is very ironic to Akaashi.

There is so much music that it catches Akaashi off-guard. Thudding bass, like a heartbeat, in his soul. Kettledrums and pulsing lights, atmosphere clogged with young blood and running veins. There is heat; intense, condensed, it pulses in Akaashi’s spine, works its way from his fingers to his toes.

He gets a drink. Reapplies eyeliner in his reflection on the glass table. It smears all over his fingers, like black, shadowy blood.

In the bathroom, he changes out of his overgrown sweatshirt. It was a gift from Terushima, for his birthday, or maybe for New Year’s.

He leaves it on a hook in the bathroom stall, even though he knows that in the end, what he’s wearing doesn’t matter.

He sheds his skin anyway, goes to the mirror.

Oikawa taught him how to hide a black eye under powder.

“Thank you, Big Brother,” He says.

___

It is incredibly easy to find Kuroo and Bokuto. They’re at the center of everything, like gravity. Like the sun and the stars, they pull and pull and pull, draw him in, dizzy.

Kuroo sees Akaashi first. His eyes are hazy in the light, a thousand different colors.

He sees Akaashi, and looks desperately sad. Stops dancing, looks for all the world, like a dead soldier. Grabs Bokuto, swings him around.

Bokuto sees Akaashi.

Koutarou’s wearing a hideous-colored shirt. Akaashi doesn’t even know what color it is, but he has no doubt it’s hideous. Too bright, too ugly, too friendly. Too sincere and open and _stupid_ , he is _so stupid. They are so fucking stupid._

His hair is down, soft, feathery. White, inebriated with charcoal and black. Bright gold eyes, soft gold skin, scars and callouses, sun-bleached freckles.

His smile lights up his face like an atomic bomb, and Akaashi watches his own name form on Bokuto’s lips.

Akaashi takes the leap.

___

“‘Kaashi!” Bokuto half-yells into Akaashi’s ear, which is not so nice, but there is warmth, there is closeness, there is Bokuto’s incredible smell, something between pine and sea salt and basil, and that is so nice that Keiji doesn’t mind the yelling. “You’re here! I was just thinking about you and you’re here, now! How’d you get here?”

 _Just kiss me._ Akaashi thinks, stupidly. _Just fucking kiss me._

“I asked.” He says. “Tsukishima. I asked him.”

“What?” Bokuto jerks, totally startled. He half-laughs. “Are you joking?”

“No,” The tips of Bo’s hands are settled, feather-light, on Akaashi’s hips, and one of his thumbs keeps slipping beneath the fabric of his shirt. It’s driving Akaashi fucking insane. He’s having trouble focusing on anything except the way his skin turns to fire every time Koutarou touches him. “I was looking for you.”

“For me,” Bokuto repeats, and there’s that look. The look of helpless, hopeless, terribly vulnerable, awful, sincere, good-for-nothing hope. “You were looking for me.”

Warmth is everywhere, everywhere, everywhere, Akaashi has never felt this warm. This good. This safe.

The hole in his chest is like liquid agony.

He wants to cry. Akaashi Keiji really, really wants to cry.

“I missed you,” Keiji says instead, drunk on the scent of Bokuto’s skin, drunk on the heat, on the bassline, on the pain coursing through his body like mercury. 

“Fuck,” Bokuto groans. “Fuck, Akaashi, you’re… you’re just so incredible.”

Akaashi’s breath catches, and he feels Bo’s heart skip. His strange hair and eclectic eyes, the familiar smile and little hooked scar underneath his left eye. The rush in Akaashi’s veins as Bo leans down, breathes slow and heavy into Akaashi’s parted mouth.

His lungs fill with pine and sea salt and basil and Bokuto Koutarou.

“Please, Koutarou,” He says.

Bokuto kisses him.

Soft, at first, just the brush of burning lips, and Akaashi’s hands fly up, wrap around, fasten in Bokuto’s hair, pull him down down down, down to Akaashi, down to the skeleton boy. He lets out a soft, soft, needy whimper, and feels the moan rumbling in Bokuto’s chest.

“Please,” He whispers against Bo’s mouth.

They kiss again, and this time, Akaashi parts his lips. Bokuto shivers, shudders, shakes, and crushes Akaashi tight to him. A hand at his hip, tracing infuriating patterns into his fever-pitch skin, a hand at the base of his head, thumb pressing into the handholds of his jaw, tipping his head back.

There is so much heat. Hot breath, Koutarou kissing him like he hasn’t been made to do anything else. It’s so warm and good and good and warm, and Akaashi feels himself moaning, whimpering, gripping Bokuto tighter, hands fisting in the fabric at his shoulders, bunching it up because if he lets go, he will crumble to the floor.

Koutarou backs him into a wall, and Akaashi prepares himself for bruises, but when his back hits the wall, it’s soft. It’s gentle. It’s Bo’s arms trapping him, soft and pliant, and he tugs Akaashi’s bottom lip into his mouth and Akaashi loses his own damn name.

The kiss travels. Down Akaashi’s neck, right beneath his jaw, across his collarbone, to the pulse point at the base of his throat. Bokuto’s lips are soft, gentle. He whispers into Akaashi’s skin, warm and kind, breath ghosting shivers down Keiji’s spine. Akaashi whimpers, mewls, twists in Bo’s arms.

“You’re so incredible, Akaashi,” Bo whispers into his ear, parting his hair with the soft curve of his thumb, lips like burning tears. “So beautiful and strong and amazing.”

And Akaashi can only clutch at him, croon his name through heavy gasping breaths because never once in his twenty one years of life has Akaashi been set on fire like this. Never has he felt like this, this warm and safe and so wrecked with want.

He yanks blindly at Bo’s face, cups his cheeks, kisses him with _everything_ he has, feels the parts inside of him, all of them, all of the rotten bits, feels them  _burn burn burn._ Tongue and cheek and teeth and mouth, he gives in to Bokuto’s gentle touches, gentle, kind, soft, warm lips.

“Take me away from here,” He says.

“Okay.”

___

They go for a walk. Not far, and Bokuto holds his hand, wraps his fingers through Akaashi’s. Sings to himself, stops twice to spin Akaashi, to pull him up against his chest and kiss him so utterly breathless that it feels like Bokuto has somehow pulled Akaashi’s heart out through the hole in his chest and placed it inside his own ribs. And Akaashi doesn’t even care, doesn’t even mind, wouldn’t even say a word, because every time he kisses back, Bokuto’s pulse sings. Every time he knots his fingers in that soft, stupid, eclectic hair, Bokuto sighs. Every time he mewls at Koutarou’s mouth, soft and needy, Bokuto trembles.

The night is warm.

Bokuto’s hand is warm.

The skeleton boy burns.

He burns. 

"Where do you want to go?”  

“Anywhere but home."

“Okay.”

___

Bokuto lets him in. It is late, and Tsukishima, Bokuto points out, as he leads Akaashi down the hallway, is studying.

There's a light on in Tsukishima’s room, and Akaashi seems him outlined through the crack in the door, in heavy black headphones, tapping a pencil to the beat.

Akaashi smiles at Bokuto, and the strange boy tugs on his hand.

Koutarou’s room is… messy.

There are also plants everywhere.

“Do… do you steal them?” Akaashi asks, as Bokuto introduces him to each and every one of them.

“No! I grow them! From seeds,” Bokuto takes Akaashi’s hand, cups it, places a tiny bromeliad in between his fingers. “And okay, so like, maybe the seeds are a little stolen, but only a little. Okay? And also, alright, maybe I stole the gardenia, but hear me out, ‘Kaashi, it’s not _bad_ , the people who had him were leaving him in the _shade_. All day! Shade _all day_! They can’t _do that,_ he doesn’t _like_ that, he needed _sunshine_ and _warmth_ , things can’t live without light, ya know! They live without light and they all turn to skeletons! That’s _bad_! I had to rescue him! I had to- it was basically an abusive relationship.” He turns to Akaashi, laughs. “Sorry. That sounded crazy. I'm a little crazy. I'm weird about plants.”

“You’re not weird.” Akaashi feels a bit like he’s in limbo. He hurts like, a lot. All his bruises twisted bones and tired soul, it all hurts and aches and numbs and bites, but that’s nothing new, nothing new, anyway, it feels good. He feels like he’s been caught between worlds, like he’s in gray, all gray matter and gray life, and once upon a time he looked at Bo and thought “black and white”, but now he’s pretty sure Koutarou's all gold.

He feels weak, sort of light, sort of fake, sort of paper, like if he thought too hard or turned too fast, he’ll dissolve into dust. There’s a grabbing in his stomach, this push-and-pull sort of sea-sickness. It’s maybe nerves. Akaashi is maybe anxious.

He’s anxious because this is real, because he’s going to do it. He has to do it. Has one chance at this. Has to get it right, get it wrong, cut the wire, stop this sludgy shadowy-light bleeding on the inside, because if he doesn’t do this now, he’ll never, ever, ever be able to sleep again.

Akaashi Keiji is an idiot.

“Koutarou,” He says, and Bokuto snaps to attention. Plucks the bromeliad out of his hands, sets it back down on the desk by the old coffee cups and scattered paper and volleyball stickers.

“Your fingers are cold, ‘Kaashi,” Bokuto says absentmindedly, and wraps his scarred, calloused hands around Akaashi’s skeleton-boy fingers.

Akaashi Keiji is a fucking idiot.

“Why did you send me those flowers?” Bokuto smiles to himself. “Ya know, I was hoping you’d never figure it out. But I guess you’re really smart. And anyway, I gave you those clovers, so I guess the cat was out of the bag.”

 _I knew it was you_. Akaashi thinks. _I knew from the start that it was you. No one else is that kind._

_No one else is that stupid._

“I dunno,” Bokuto brings Akaashi’s fingers to his mouth, runs his lips over them. “At first it was like, some sort of game. I thought you were really, really pretty. You have amazing eyes, you know. I saw them and I thought “wow, he’s so kind”. And I wanted to talk to you. But I’m not… not really good at first impressions. I’m never good. I drop things, make a fool outta myself. And you’re so pretty and graceful, so I thought, _oh god, this guy must think I’m a total idiot._ So I guess they were a really lame “hello” at first. But then, I don’t know. We talked. Your boy ended up in the hospital and I just saw how angry and lonely and scared you were, and I figured that maybe you really needed those flowers. Maybe you needed someone to tell you good things about yourself. I know I did. I was a mess when I met Kuroo. Like, a total disaster. Really clingy and self-loathing and anxious. I didn’t have any confidence in anyone. All my life, I’ve only ever had people pointing out my mistakes. And then Kuroo, ya know. He always pointed out when I did something good. When I did things right. And that helped. So I figured. Maybe you would get them when you were sad or down, and then you would be… less sad. Or something. I just wanted to see you smile, ‘Kaashi. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“You make me smile,” Akaashi says. “You always make me happy. You’re always doing the right thing. For me. You're-”

He cuts off, and Bokuto tries to lean down and kiss him, but Akaashi looks away, and says. “Hold on.”

So Bokuto holds on. He waits. He holds Akaashi’s hands and he waits.

“I have-” Akaashi struggles. “I have something to. To show- to tell you.”

“Okay,” Says Bokuto. And waits.

He’s always waiting for Akaashi. Always.

“I think there’s- there’s,” He grits his teeth. “You’re warm. And gentle. And kind. To me. You’re good to me, Koutarou.”

And Bokuto smiles at him, looks with soft gold eyes. Only for Akaashi. Just for Akaashi.

“And I- at first. I was. I’ve never been scared of you,” Keiji says, and the scary lightness turns tenfold. He feels like he’s about to fall over. “I’ve been scared of everything since I can remember. But I’m not scared of you. You make me feel-” _Loved._ “-safe. And that’s. That’s a. It’s a good thing. It’s just. New. Not really- I mean, I’ve never really… felt like that. With anyone. I’ve always been scared.”

“There’s this voice inside my head, it sounds like Oikawa, and it always tells me to be careful. You know, kind of like a voice of reason, except sometimes, it tells me to do the… the stupidest shit.”

“Everyone has a voice like that,” Bokuto says. Akaashi isn’t sure whether or not to believe him.

“No, just- just listen, okay? Just me,” He cups Bokuto’s face. “Please.”

“Okay,” Says Bokuto. He waits.

“Oikawa and I aren’t brothers. We’re… I mean, we are brothers, we’re just not family. Or. We are. I don’t know. We have different blood. We ran away together when I was eleven and he was fourteen. He lived in the apartment next to me, and I mean, it doesn’t matter, it really doesn’t, because that was a long time ago, and I don’t think about it anymore, because it’s over, I’m not there anymore, but okay, so Oikawa kind of saved my life. I mean, we ran away, so I don’t know if that counts, but he still saved my life. Without him, I would definitely not be here right now.” Akaashi shakes his head, pictures broken glass and door knobs. “We lived on our own for a long time. And he was a good brother. He was the best brother. He took care of me. I mean, literally. He raised me. Kept me fed and clothed. But I mean, he was… like, fourteen and fifteen. A teenager. He couldn’t do a whole lot. So eventually, I had to learn how to make money myself.”

This is how the story goes. This is how it ends, with Akaashi clutching Bokuto’s face. With Kageyama screaming himself hoarse in Hinata’s bedroom, while Oikawa sits outside the door and sobs into his hands. With Kei in the next room, drawing Tadashi’s smile, with Noya and Tadashi curled into each other like family.

“The company is called Dice,” Akaashi says. “And I don’t know a lot about them. But I was… signed on when I was thirteen. They. It’s. Uhh.” He catches his breath. “You have to know that it wasn’t… it wasn’t- I wanted it. I didn’t… I didn’t know what else to do. We didn’t have anything left. We had so little. And they. I mean.”

Bokuto’s face is hard-lined with confusion and concern. His eyes are soft, wide, they are open and curious and sad. He touches Akaashi’s face, soft, soft, feather soft.

Akaashi closes his eyes, and counts to ten.

“Let me show you.”

___

So Bokuto cries.

He touches every little bit of skin Akaashi gives to him. Collarbone and ribcage, spine and shoulder, arm and wrist and hip and chest and neck. Touches with light fingers, and cries. Not loud, not rude, not scary. Doesn’t scream or beg or plead. Just… cries. Soft. Wet. Quiet.

Akaashi talks. “No one knows. They don’t know. I couldn’t ever tell them. I’m. I mean. I didn’t want- I didn’t need… they… I didn’t want them to worry. I wasn’t going to fuck them up, but I guess. God, Koutarou, I’ve fucked up. I’ve fucked up so bad. With my brother and Tadashi and Yuu. I mean. I’ve fucked up. And I can’t fix it. I- god, Kageyama.” He is stunned into an agonized silence, because his boy. His _boy_. _Kageyama, I'm so sorry._  “I can’t… ever fix it. And I’m tired, I mean, I’m so tired. I’m tired all the goddamn time. Everything is tired and slow, and I’m so tired of hating it. I hate everything. I hate it. I hate myself. I hate looking in the mirror, and I hate what I see. I’m just. I’m just shadows, now. Bones. I’ve lost everything. I have nothing. My skin doesn’t fit and I’m tired, and all I can think about is how nice it would be to be in pain all the time. This isn’t…. It’s not like it’s rape. I… I ask for it. I _want_ it. I _like_ it. Because it hurts, and I… I mean. I feel it. I don’t feel anything, but I feel this.”

Bokuto is… quiet.

Golden eyes and eclectic hair, cheeks stained with tears, he is quiet.

His hands map bruises like continents, trace red lines like rivers. He holds Akaashi, and is so very quiet.

Akaashi really, really wants to cry. He lets out a soft whimper. "Koutarou,  _please_."

Bokuto hugs him. Soft and gentle, with strong, gentle, warm, kind hands, warm and sad. He can taste tears, taste salt, taste the way Bokuto lets out a helpless sob into his hair, kisses the top of his head with a fierce sort of sadness.

“I’m sorry,” Akaashi says.

“Don’t apologize,” Bokuto says, vehemently. “Don’t apologize to me, ‘Kaashi. You have nothing to be sorry for, okay? Nothing. It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be alright. We can fix it. We’ll fix it together. I’m here. I’m take care of you, Akaashi, I promise. I promise, I’ll take care of you. It’s going to be okay.”

Akaashi bursts into hot, angry tears. “I’m so tired, Koutarou.”

“Just tell me what you want,” Bo says. “Whatever it is, Akaashi.”

“I want to be loved,” Akaashi says. “For one night in my fucking life, I want to be loved.”

There’s a beat. A long pause. And then;

“Okay.”

___

Sex with Koutarou is-

It’s-

It doesn’t really have words, does it? Akaashi tries and fails.

Bokuto kisses him. Kisses him long and slow and gentle, hands burning on his ribs, his stomach, his shoulders, his arms, his hips. He kisses him and asks him. Asks him every step of the fucking way.

_“Is this okay?”_

_“Are you okay?”_

_“Breathe with me, Akaashi. Are you okay?”_

_“Tell me if this is okay.”_

It’s slow and it’s soft and it’s gentle, and underneath Bokuto’s sheets, Akaashi loses himself to the steady beat of Bokuto’s heart, to his lips on Akaashi’s pulse, his thighs, his jaw, his mouth, to his fingers stroking, soft, steady, to Bokuto whispering, “ _You’re so beautiful. You’re so incredible. You’re so amazing, Akaashi. So amazing.”_

He wraps his fingers in Bokuto’s hair, clutches at his shoulders, whines at his neck, trembles and shakes and cries. Bokuto cries too, soft and sad, so terribly sad. He kisses Akaashi through his tears, and Akaashi tastes salt and agony on Bokuto’s tongue.

Akaashi feels it inside him, building like the sun.

In the end, he cries Bokuto’s name into his collarbone. Koutarou kisses him, kisses him and turns as blinding hot as a star.

___

“I’d love you for the rest of my life.” Bokuto says, much, much later, with Akaashi curled into his chest, wrapped, enveloped, shrouded in his warmth. "If you’d let me. I’d love you until the day I died.”

Akaashi finds Bo’s mouth in the dark. It’s sweet, soft. Sad.

“I know.” He says.

Bokuto falls asleep at five thirty-seven.

Akaashi is gone before the dawn breaks.

___

Standing on the bridge with the wind in his hair, Akaashi touches his mouth. Feels the ghost of Bokuto’s kiss. Remembers Yamaguchi’s smile, and Nishinoya’s laugh. Sees his brother’s face. Kageyama’s eyes.

Takes a deep breath.

_Okay._

Opens his eyes.

And falls like a martyr.

On the other side of the city, Bokuto wakes up to a cold bed.

There is a note on his desk.

It’s shaped like a flower.

**Author's Note:**

> "didn't i tell you that you were gonna break down?  
> didn't i want you?  
> everybody wants you.  
> tell me what you're needing,  
> give in to your bleeding,  
> better start believing in yourself."  
> ___  
> come talk to me on [tumblr](http://iamtherabbitwhisperer.tumblr.com/).


End file.
